


Our Own

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Canon Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Hobbits, Minor Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Minor Character, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Recovery, Triple Drabble, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-03
Updated: 2007-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Our Own

Estella always sleeps on Merry's left, curled up against his side – naked, most nights, because she can, and because she loves the feel of her husband's skin against hers. Merry's in the habit of sleeping on his back – and snoring, bless him, but the sound's so familiar now she might not be able to sleep without it. Some nights, though, when the fire has gone out and the bitter wind leaks in through a window-crack or an open door somewhere on the surface of their old-fashioned smial, Merry will curl up against her as well, throwing his right arm over her shoulder. She'll always wake then, blurry-eyed, with a vague sense of alarm. Merry's breath will be warm on her face, but the arm draped over her will be cold as ice.

Most of the time, then, she pushes him back on his back and drapes herself over him, spread-eagled over his warm torso, and pushes his arm away to the side, where the ice won't freeze her. Sometimes, though, she'll pull the arm up between them and kiss each cold fingertip, pressing her own heat against it until even that chilly skin will begin to warm up. If Merry wakes, it's only for a few seconds: enough to smile at her blearily, perhaps, or to mutter some incomprehensible dreamspeak. At daybreak, his right arm will be almost as warm as his left one.

It's only one of those traces of past darkness that penetrate their lives. Estella carries her own: two long scars down her side, one from a whip, the other from a blade. She doesn't regret them. Firelight, sunlight, moonlight – all cast long shadows in the house, but it's their darkness now, defined by light, possessed and ruled, and she loves it as much as the light.


End file.
